Just One Night // DNF

40 - Memories

A/N - 4800+ babes; Sorry it took so long. Get a snack, something to drink, and a comfy spot to read<3

"Wake up."

✧✧✧

It was the same dream. The same blur of scenes and memories.

George is back in England. It's cloudy and cold, the sky dark gray with warning signs of rain. The streets are busy, and he and his best friend are out and about. They had no school and were planning to go to the movies. 

His body was moving on its own, replaying the event as it was years ago. He was well aware of what was about to happen and yet, he couldn't stop walking. Couldn't stop talking about the movie they were going to see. His best friend listened, sharing his own excitement. It was the memory of the two being clueless and naive. Naive to think that the world wasn't a cruel, disgustingly twisted place. They were young, and they didn't know. Nobody could have known.

The light was red. It was red and the street crossing sign had that white person walking on it. 

George saw the car before he could say anything.
He felt the blood on his face before he heard his best friend's body hit the ground.
He could hear his scream in his own ears before his knees hit the pavement.

There was blood everywhere. There were screams and shouts but the only thing George could think of was that his best friend wasn't waking up. That his own clothes were splattered with blood that was not his.

"Wake up." He'd say, tears in his eyes because holy shit, there was a lot of blood. His body was disfigured in the worst way. His eyes looked up at the sky, totally dilated and a sense of lifelessness shone there.

"Wake up!" George shouted this time. His hands going to shake the other awake by the shoulders. 

"Wake up!" He cried, the salt of his tears on his taste buds. 

"Wake up!" George gasped, his eyes shooting open before he lurched up in bed, his head throbbing in absolute pain. He fell out of bed, his back hitting the carpet, a hand over his mouth as he scrambled up and ran to the bathroom.

His knees hit the tile, fingers grasping the toilet seat as he hurled the contents of what was left in his stomach into the toilet. He heaved, sweat beading on his forehead. His arms shook from tremors that usually overtook him when he had that dreadful nightmare. 

Eyes squinted shut, George tried to erase the images from his head. Tried to stop feeling the sticky liquid of blood on his skin. Tried not to taste the metal of blood on his tongue. Tried to stop hearing his friend's body hit the ground. The sound of his bones crunching when he was hit. Oh god, he lurched forward again, I'm gonna be sick. 

And he was right because he threw up again, this time it was half dry heaving half stomach bile. The taste of it burned disgustingly in his mouth. Tears pricked his eyes. 

"Hey," A soothing voice that was never there when he woke up said, "you're alight." A hand rubbed his back, and a sob nearly escaped. It felt so comforting, so welcoming. It was unusual, because every time George was thrown out of bed and into the bathroom because of that disgusting repeat of what happened years prior, he was always alone. Alone and hurting, alone and crying, alone alone alone-

George dragged his fingers up the porcelain and flushed the toilet, his eyes still squeezed shut. "I'm sorry." George rasped, his voice sounding foreign and distant in his own ears. He could barely hear anything other than his own screams and the sound of a body hitting the pavement, actually. He gripped the porcelain again.